The Revolution The Remembrance
by Kang Xiu
Summary: Because it's Barricade Day, and I do stuff like this. A poem observing the barricades after the final battle. Perhaps I need to think of more cheery subjects...


In honour of June 6, 2003, the 171st(?) anniversary of Barricade Day, I write this poem. I own none of those pretty and wonderful boys who got themselves shot, nor do I own anyone else Miz related.  
  
The Revolution - The Remembrance  
  
Deeper crimson of a different sort  
Spreads thickly, slowly across this man's scarlet vest  
The trails continue as breathing ceases  
Blood dripping through beautiful, gun-tousled golden hair  
His eyes remain open; he looks ahead  
Even in death, his great visions are held and cherished  
A flower, a godlet, son and lover of Patria  
He fought for his people; he lived and he died for his people  
  
The leader  
  
At his feet lies a man of rough years  
A sot who gave his soul away to a god who never saw him  
He sleeps now deeper than any inebriety  
Wine given up, the haze of drink for the red haze of death  
  
The cynic  
  
Upon a table in a room down below them  
A young boy and an old man rest together, both bullet-scarred  
Honoured they dream, forever  
And the souls of the men who placed them there will never forget  
  
The martyrs  
  
A gamin, the one, a spirit of the streets  
Who danced with the smoky wind and sang with the calls of vendors  
Who gazed at the stars on rooftops  
And sheltered from the rain in the belly of an elephant  
  
The determination  
  
A curate, the other, lover of books  
A man who loved flowers and words and thoughts  
With nothing in the world he gave himself  
And the flag of freedom was his bloodstained jacket  
  
The sacrifice  
  
At the door, at the entrance, is a young man  
His beauty was not in his face but in his nature and his words  
Three wounds in his chest have left him to die  
But his gentle face remains turned upwards, to look at the sky  
  
The philosopher  
  
Beyond him a little ways is an amused smile  
Hatless, his hair ruffled lightly by the wind that cools him  
Mocking even the cruel guns that took life  
True to this mistress, for which he scorned all others in the end  
  
The laughter  
  
Further there are two together, brave companions  
One had always the worst of luck, but he laughed at Fortune for her games  
The other dreamed of the illnesses he could die from but  
In the end he died of a bullet wound, and his comrade embraces him in death  
  
The friends  
  
Near to them lies a man whose hands are worn  
A worker, he spent his days in the delicate trade of fan-making  
But while his body laboured, his mind flew free  
He believed in freedom for all worlds and people, and he fought steadily for it  
  
The dedication  
  
Reclining draped against the barricades  
A man who in life was built of fierce words and fiercer actions  
All to help the cause he believed in  
He stripped the streets to make the bed upon which he now sleeps  
  
The fire  
  
Outside the fortress a boy of words rests  
One hand, from which flowery phrases and metaphors used to pour, is tightened on   
A chair's leg, as if he sought to pull himself up  
He will write no more, but he called out his last words with the bravery of his soul  
  
The poet  
  
Return through the mists to the inside  
A gamine lies in the mud, torn blouse exposing the bloody hole in her breast  
She died protecting a young man here  
She gave him her life and died with his promised kiss upon her forehead  
  
The misery  
  
Two of the men who fought are gone  
One came to lose himself in death and was rescued by a treasured letter  
The other came to bring him home  
They disappeared into the sewers, the only way to freedom from the liberators' dream  
  
The father and the grandson  
  
All around the main characters of this play  
There are the extras - but there is not such a thing as a small role  
These men who have no names  
Are the centres and the people who trusted in everything, the men who battled  
  
The fighters  
  
And a dreamy, thick sadness drifts  
Around them all, surrounding every lifeless figure there in wreathes  
They're dead, they're gone and, though   
Families and friends will mourn them, now only one thing sheds tears over them  
  
The barricade  
  
Owari ~ End 


End file.
